


the old lovers' song

by Laeana



Series: built our house on glory (2020 podium) [14]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Boys In Love, Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, Living Together, M/M, POV Outsider, Podium, Secret Relationship, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:53:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27757948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana
Summary: What exactly is a victory?
Relationships: Lewis Hamilton/Sebastian Vettel
Series: built our house on glory (2020 podium) [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833505
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	the old lovers' song

**Author's Note:**

> (featuring : La chanson des vieux amants by Jacques Brel)

What exactly is a victory?

Do we find it in small moments, everyday life moments ? Is a victory rather something ordinary, which does not necessarily need words to qualify it ?

Waking up at three in the morning, a pair of arms around his waist, in the warmth of a silent house, regretting nothing, thinking that this is it, this is just enough, this is all he needs.

Spend mornings, long mornings, laughter at breakfasts, slow and sweet awakenings, the first kisses.

The daily routine that sets in, always relaxing, going about their own business, meeting up later, taking a shower together, never looking back.

Each their ways, each their presence on the networks, always paying attention to what is posted and where, a habit, never showing the fans the presence of another person somewhere in the corner of the screen.

The end of the day, the times when nothing ever happens, huddled together, on the sofa, watching a movie of no particular interest, an old movie, too comfortable, wanting to stay like that for hours, years …

Or the dates ?

The chic and discreet places, the palaces, the reserved rooms, their apartment completely redecorated and strewn with a carpet of roses, the champagne, so similar to the one they have so much faith shared, at the top of the world, the suits, the smiles almost shy, yet used to it, old habits, statements in the moonlight, great romantics.

The definition of a feeling of victory, which is found through small details, their life together is a victory. Their personal victory.

The equivalence of real victories ? Of victory in the heat of the moment, in the spotlight ? With that … that feeling, that buzz in the head, dizziness, the champagne on the edge of the lips, letting go.

So many achievements, world championships, victories, podiums, always, always on top of the world, never to stop where many have failed.

Maybe that's it, victory. Maybe that should be privileged over privacy, personal ambitions, anything that could have spoiled this beautiful slender and that was slipped under the carpet and that makes him think, often. 

Because, in the end, these small victories, this relationship which results from those, is as many storms as lull, as many tempest under which they get lost, they drown, they seek each other.

Waking up at three in the morning, in an empty bed, shaking with cold, wondering what wasn't done well, why it wasn't enough, wondering, having too many regrets, in the silence of a house in which the echoes of yet another argument are still audible.

Spend mornings, long mornings, looking for words, not having slept all night, not knowing what to say to each other, hoping for a look, a contact.

Daily life, the unbearable routine, wandering around the house, too big for only two people, tearing each other apart at the slightest words, still the same subjects, seeking reconciliation, rethinking the past, the mistakes already made, the ruined relationships, the growing fear that it will all happen again.

Each has their moments, their differences have never seemed so big, the fatigue of this constant monitoring, the impression of never being able to be natural, of having signed in an endless cycle that drags them down, that exhausts them, that devours them, which kills them.

The end of the day, when nothing ever happens, a few steps from each other, in front of an uninteresting film, questioning oneself about one's own actions, about future events, about the very question of a future, until it becomes too much and the need for distance is felt … 

Or the separations ?

The long weeks spent together, the hesitation, always, at the airport, hand shimmering above another, glance exchanged, regrets having wasted time, the rare time they manage to agree to, the apologies, suddenly abundant, about a pile of facts and, suddenly, as they are already missing each other, separated without being, how they would like more time, where they were torn a few minutes ago, in this too silent house, oh, how their eyes catch and their lips come off reluctantly ...

Or the reunion ?

In hotels, sending each other the room number, random keys, in the dark, disturbed by no one, teasing, discussions in the paddock, too far, too close, never enough, in airports, on the landing doors, kissing more and more and they've missed each other so much and they're probably going to hurt each other again but they don't even have to care about it.

They don't care.

It's their victories, it's their small victories, for Seb, his life has been mostly made up of small personal victories, he still drives, he always has a seat, he won't complain, Lewis's victories become his sort of. The pride stays, it never goes away.

What exactly is a victory ? What should it taste like ? Where should it stop, where should it start ?

They stand on the podium together and they feel like it's been more than years, that they are finally seeing each other, that they are finally meeting again.

Sebastian smiles, softly.

It’s not a victory, in itself, but it’s a victory to reach this podium step, after having spent such a season, after being miserable, after his bitterness made him say such words which he immediately regretted, he wanted so much to get away from Lewis, to avoid hurting him, to become only a shadow of himself.

And so many times he was caught by Lewis who refused to leave him alone, to let him go.

All these nights, the desire, the passion, the dying melancholy, the fear, the uncertainties, and his two arms wrapped around his Briton's waist, holding him firmly against him, comfort, happiness, his victory.

The quiet of a house. The quiet of their home, the home they both decided to buy, after a little too much hesitation, because they finally wanted a place that they both owned. 

They exchange looks, so many looks, and it's worth it, it was so worth it, all these years … they love each other terribly. 

He slips his arm around the shoulders of his companion, of the one who he is sharing his life with for so long, so long that he no longer sees himself living without him, despite the arguments, despite the moments of doubt, despite the pain, and he thinks that’s maybe his biggest victory.

To be able to live this daydream, a little longer by his side.

> **"But my love**  
>  **My sweet, my tender, my marvellous love**  
>  **From the clear dawn until the end of the day**  
>  **I love you still, you know, I love you.** "

**Author's Note:**

> it was a bit of a challenge for myself, I tried to write differently from my usual, outsider pov, not directly orienting who I'm talking about ... it was nice to do it and i'm posting late as always for this ship that is a bit particular for me.  
> Thanks for having read.


End file.
